Out of Time and Out of Luck
by Scott Revair
Summary: The story of those that almost made it. Rated M for language, violence, sexual situations in later chapters, and any other twisted things that I either forgot to mention or haven't thought of yet. Warning: All OC! There are no main characters!
1. Chapter 1

Out of Time and Out of Luck

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil, yadda, yadda.

Chapter 1: Tara

The streets are always dark this time of night, not because the sun is down, but because Raccoon is a backwater hick town with maybe two street lights between the Apple Inn, where Tara works, and Jay's Bar, where she's going. The streets are always damp with puddles strewn about everywhere, so her leather boots probably won't last the week. To Tara this is just a momentary stay.

She craves the city with enormous crowds every which way, tall buildings with ever-present lights in every window, turning night into day. To her, this town won't do at all. Of course, the big city has some flaws, such as in one night someone could get into your condo, and take everything you have. This is why she's even here in the first place. The cheap rent will allow her to save up enough to start over. Then it's back to the limelight areas she's used to.

Tara herself is a medium height and weight brunette, with a provocative yellow top and black skirt. Her black leather boots tap on the watery streets with every step, especially the wooden slab that is supposed to serve as a "pot-hole cover".

"Jesus, this place is just..." Tara is trying to think of a proper demeaning comment, but comes up empty.

The staircase and bridge leading down to Main Street seems pretty well maintained, though. It's long way around, the the hustle and bustle of traffic puts her at ease when compared to the quiet and serene alleyways. It takes her until she's at the bottom of the stone steps to notice that the cars aren't moving.

"What's going on? Someone find something to do around here?" Tara asks herself cynically.

She passes by a sickening green colored panel wagon, and sees that there's no one inside. She moves to the next one...empty. She repeats this process until she gets to a blue SUV with the doors open. She sees a man lying half in, half out of the backseat door.

"Hey! Are you alright?" She yells to him, but gets a low moan in response.

"Do you need an ambulance or anything?" She yells again, and again the moaning.

She walks over to him and he sort of stirs, but stays in his laying position. She gets right next to him, and kneels down.

"Mister, I-" She is interrupted by the man instantly springing to life, grabbing her by the shoulders, and forcing her to the ground. She now sees that this man is definitely _not _alright, but has an enormous wound in his chest that is clearly visible though his flannel jacket and torn open white t-shirt. Also, chunks of his arms are missing, and his face has scratches from something trying to pull it off.

Whatever did this to him doesn't concern her at this point. Getting him off of her and getting some distance is. Tara does everything she can to move him. She tries pushing, and pulling. She uses her free legs to knee him in that wound in his chest. Nothing seems to work.

She knees him one more time with everything she has, and it shifts the man's weight just enough to get one of her shoulders free, and uses it to deliver a hard left to that open wound, and is shocked as it goes right through to the back of his rib cage.

The man is still unphased, even with Tara's arm sticking into his chest like a spear. The man pushes his weight to the left to get her shoulder back down, but Tara pulls in the same direction to use the momentum to roll over on top of him. She pulls her arm out of the man's chest and hops off. The man reaches for her again, but she has already taken off back up the steps not looking back until she reaches the middle of the bridge to see that more people have gathered around, probably drawn by the commotion.

They are not walking to him, exactly, but rather awkwardly stumbling to the scene of the fight. The man she fought is rising to his feet, and Tara is amazed when she realizes he's trying to follow her. Not only that, but the rest of the small crowd that had gathered are also making for the stairs. She darts off to the other end of the bridge.

"There are still normal people at the Inn. I have to get there." She thinks out loud.

She gets to the the other stair case that leads down to the Inn's front entrance, and sees a little girl trying to crawl out though an open window.

"Please, hel-" The girl's troubled plea is interrupted when she is yanked back into the window, like she's been sucked into a vacuum cleaner. Tara rushes to the window, and almost pukes. A man and a woman have the girl in a tug-of-war. The man has an arm, and the woman has a leg. Tara can only sit and watch as they rip and tear at her until the arm comes off at the elbow in a geyser of blood. The woman falls down when the arm comes off, losing her grip on the girl's leg, allowing her to run back to the window.

"Come on!" Tara shrieks to her. "Grab my hand!"

The girl does as is instructed, so Tara can pull her out. Then she realizes her own little crowd from Main Street will be catching up soon. The girl's screaming isn't helping that cause any. Anyone in Raccoon could pinpoint them with her going off like that, but Tara forgives her, due to the fact her arm is missing and she's pouring blood all over the stone steps. Tara takes her top off to attempt to wrap what's left of the girl's arm. She doesn't like the idea of showing off her purple bra, but it's an emergency.

The girl can't think straight she's frozen in terror and disbelief, so Tara has to pick her up and carry her down the steps, and toward the Apple Inn.

"Don't worry. There's a phone at the Inn. We can get you an ambulance there." Tara says to console both the girl and herself.

They are almost at the Inn, when more of them show up, stumbling down the road they are crossing. Luckily, the "people" are far enough away for them to make it to the heavy doors of the Apple Inn. She has to put the girl down for a second to open the door.

For something that walks like it downed a gallon of vodka, these things are making pretty good time. Tara quickly grabs the girl while holding the door open with her foot, brings her in, and slams the door shut. Whatever these people have become arrive just as Tara clicks the dead bolts locked. That doesn't mean that they give up, however. They pound the door with their open palms, trying in vain to get it open.

_Beat on that all you like, mother fuckers, _Tara thinks to herself.

She lays the girl, who is now unconscious, down on a wooden table in the middle of the lobby. After a quick breather, she realizes how quiet and empty the Inn is. There's no one working the counter. The security guard who is usually reading the paper in the corner isn't there, although there is a half eaten box of pizza sitting on his chair. Not even the guests are making a peep, that is, assuming they are still here...and alive.

She makes her way to the phone, and dials 911. There is only dial tone. She looks over to the girl she had just attempted to save, and releases a defeated sigh.

_I can at least make her last moments as comfortable as I can, _she tries not to think, but can't stop it.

She brings the pizza to the table, just in case the girl wakes up before she passes. If she does, Tara will need something to console her, anything. The bleeding hasn't slowed down. Tara feels the girl's head. It's dead cold. The only good thing about the girl's condition is that she's still breathing normally.

_Please make it fast. Please God, make it fast, _Tara pleads.

She runs her fingers through the girl's mid-length, blonde hair to move it from her face, and waits, wondering if it would be more merciful to finish her off quickly, or to just let her pass on in her sleep, and hope that she's not in any pain right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Out of Time and Out of Luck

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil.

Chapter 2: Angel

_It's not every day that everyone in your hotel turns into zombies, leaving you alone hiding in a bathroom, _Angel thinks as he's ducking down in the bathtub, gripping the downed curtain rod like a staff, his knuckles white from his tight grip.

It's true. Just an hour ago the Apple Inn was a nice place to catch some z's or have an affair with your kid's babysitter, or any of the other Inn-based, nighttime activities that he enjoyed. Now it's just an utter nightmare. He had already taken care of the zombie in his room (the babysitter mentioned earlier), but there were plenty still roaming the halls.

_Why did I have to get a room on the second floor?_ He asks himself.

He doesn't hear any moaning in the hallways anymore, so he gently and quietly reaches one leg over the edge of the tub, then the other. His denim jeans, red t-shirt, and dark hair dripping from the still going shower. He looks back at the tub, remembering all the fun he had a few hours ago in there.

_Too bad,_ He thinks.

Angel slowly creaks open the door of the bathroom, looking to see if any of them are hiding in his room. All the lights are off except for the light emanating from that poster of Finland hanging on the wall. The only zombie there is the thirteen year old girl with a shower curtain rod-shaped crevice in her right eye, still sitting in the corner. Her long, golden her that was once so vibrant and beautiful now drapes lifelessly over her sky blue nightgown.

_Much too bad,_ He finishes his previous thought. _Looks like you won't be getting that pay raise, after all._

After looking around and failing to find a more suitable weapon, Angel moves closer to the door leading to the hallway. He puts his ear to the door, and doesn't hear anything. Gently, he eases the door open a bit, looks around, and finds it empty. He quietly steps out into the hallway, feeling uncomfortable about the narrow space. The Apple isn't a huge inn, merely three floors with maybe twelve rooms to a floor.

_There should be a fire escape around here, somewhere,_ Angel thinks, trying to remember it's location.

He frequents this hotel on a weekly basis for his nighttime escapades, but having a fire, or a horde of zombies nipping at his heels for that matter, is the farthest thing from his mind at those times.

_The lobby is just around the corner and downstairs, _He almost smacks himself in the head for even thinking that. _Even if I made it down there, the lobby is the busiest place in the hotel. It's probably crawled with those things._

So Angel makes a left turn, down the long stretch of hallway toward the stairs leading to the courtyard.

_There's an exit down there, if I can make it without seeing more than one of them._

With curtain rod in hand, he silently and gently steps toward what is hopefully an end to this nightmare. He stops when he hears something moving in the next room, a deep moaning and the sound of someone or some thing scraping their feet across the floor.

_This isn't the time for stopping. If anything it's the time for moving._

Angel continues his journey to the staircase when suddenly the door he had just passed burst open, and a man in dawned fully in blue denim fell to the floor in the doorway, that is if you'd call it a "man". The thing that was once human slowly lifted itself to it's feet, looking at Angel with a mindless hunger in it's eyes.

Angel decides that discretion is the better part of valor, and takes flight away from his now far behind pursuer. The sound of running footsteps seem to cause a reaction, because now multiple rooms have loud, excited moaning in combination with rattling and pounding on the doors. Another door two rooms behind him opens with a half dressed man and woman steadily pacing out. Apparently, Angel's love of hotel debauchery isn't solely his.

Luckily for him, those ones had also appeared behind him, allowing him to keep his pace, running as fast as he can forward to those stairs. Those stairs and the exit at the bottom of it seem to shine like a glittering, golden gate to heaven. He is running as if his life depends on it, mainly because it does. He is almost there.

Once he gets to the stairway, all his hopes of escape are crushed. There are zombies on the staircase, three of them. One sitting in the corner where the stairs turn a corner begins to stir and rise. Angel quickly backtracks to the nearest room, 206, with not one but two groups of zombies coming for him. Finally, Angel catches a break, because the door is unlocked, but that quickly changes, when he gets inside, slamming the door behind him.

This room seems just little bit bigger than the rest he's stayed in. It must be one of the "luxury suites" he's heard so much about. He's always wanted to see one, since he's such a fan of this place, but teaching eighth grade barely covers the costs of both providing for an alcoholic wife and needy four year old boy and his weekly escapes from reality with the boys babysitter.

The room isn't designed exactly like the others, meaning there are small differences. The room is bigger, for one. There is a table with all kinds of clutter in combination to the cabinet in the corner, perpendicular to each other. Beside the cabinet is a table with some sort of lock box with no keyhole sitting on it, but the most intriguing thing is the poster of Europe all lit up in red.

_Proud to be an American, huh?_ Angel thinks cynically.

Beside the poster is the bathroom. Unexpectedly, the room is pretty well maintained with all the carnage taking place in the rest of the inn. He looks around to find anything he can use, either a form of communication, a weapon, or something to eat. Angel had just realized he hasn't eaten anything since he got off work which was hours ago, bringing his mind to his family.

_I wonder if they're alright._

It's not like he actually cares, but it's just a sliver of curiosity that passes by for a moment. He doesn't really cherish a failed marriage and a sissy for a son.

_Is there anyone who does?_ He wonders. _Maybe there are some masochists out there that would love that, but I sure as hell ain't one of them._

He knows that the undead await him at the door, silently standing placidly in the hall staring at the only exit patiently.

_Or is it the only exit?_

He looks at the wall to his right, then to the curtain rod, and for the first time since this whole mess had begun, a smirk crosses his lips.

_I'm out of here_.

Angel pushes the rod as hard as he can into the wall, punching though drywall and pulls it back. After listening for a reaction from his new "friends" who don't make a peep, but continue to wait at the door, he begins to rip at the small opening he had just made.

_If I continue doing this room by room, I'll make it to the lounge stairs. I'm getting out of this place, and I'll leave them looking stupid when I do it._

He smiles tauntingly in the zombies' direction, and crawls through.


	3. Chapter 3

Out of Time and Out of Luck

DISCLAIMER: _I don't own Resident Evil._

Chapter 3: Marissa

Little Marissa wakes up on a hard wooden table, surprised that the pain in her arm is gone.

That's probably because her arm isn't there anymore. She looks at the bloody stump, covered in what used to be a white T-shirt, which is now completely red on one side. She doesn't notice the rest of the room. She just stares in amazement at the damage done to her.

_Why did Mommy and Daddy do that to me?_ She wonders.

That morbid scene in the apartment plays again. She tries her hardest to shut it out, to repress it, but this is just too much. She cant forget the sight of her parents, her _family_ grabbing at her pulling her away from her cereal and toast. The old fashioned wooden chair clunking the black and white tile floor as her small, light frame is yanked from it.

The sound...the snap of her bones coming apart, and her flesh...the sound of her flesh as it ripped, slowly from the rest of her body. The pain was the worst part. At first, it was the most horrible pain she had ever felt, but then the cold came.

It was after that lady saved her from her parents that she started to feel really, really cold. And she was dizzy a lot after that. Everything kept spinning as that lady ran with her somewhere. She doesn't know where that lady took her, or even where she is right now. She fell asleep while they were running.

She manages to block out the pain in her arm to listen around. It's dead quiet. She makes the mistake of looking down at her arm, and immediately feels sick. The girl shoots into a sitting position so fast that she almost falls off the cold wood she was laying on.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap themselves around her, preventing the child from falling head first, but the sudden stop combined with the sight of more blood than she'd seen in any movie causes her to heave all over the floor.

"Easy there," A voice coming from behind her says "don't move so much."

Marissa tilts her head back to see a woman holding her and resitting her on the table.

"You're the lady that saved me at my house," she states.

"That's right. You're safe now," Tara lied both to the girl and herself. "Just be more careful, okay?"

"Thank you...for saving me and everything, Ma'am."

"Call me Tara, and it was nothing,"

"Um, where are we? Do you know where my Mommy and Daddy are? What was wrong with them?"

Tara tries to keep up as the questions keep pouring in by the truckload, but she can really only answer one...honestly, anyway.

"We're at the hotel. There are some bad people outside, so we have to hide in here, but don't worry. They can't get in here." Tara reassured them both. "Want some pizza? It's a little cold, because the power's out, so we can't use the microwaves. It should still be okay anyway."

The pizza may be cold, but the girl could still smell it, and it makes her stomach rumble a bit.

"Thank you, Tara". she says, scooping up a slice, trying not to move her injured stump too much.

"Say, you look like a mess. Would you like some new clothes to get into?"

"Yes, but I don't want to be any trouble, and I left my allowance savings at my house."

"It's okay. The hotel is moving to a new town, so everything's free today." Tara says, trying not to remember how many times she had lied to the poor girl already.

"Really? Is there ice cream? Or pop?" The girl inquires, with new light and hope.

"I'll go see, but those things go pretty fast when there ARE prices. Have your fingers crossed, and maybe we'll get lucky."

"Okay, I will." The girl says with a big smile on her face.

With that, Marissa watches Tara exit the room, with utter silence following her leave. She takes a minute to look around, amazed at how big the room is, and not to mention the emptiness. It's her first time in a hotel, period, let alone the locally famous Apple Inn, even though she lives...

did live... not even a block away.

_Shouldn't people be working over there,_ she wondered, staring at the front desk. _They're probably too busy moving things. I wonder what town they're going to. It'll probably be a lot more quiet at home, without all the people coming to the hotel, though. _

The word "home" accidentally strikes a harsh chord, causing her newly found chipper outlook to come down a bit.

_When can I go home? I want to go home. Why were Mommy and Daddy so mean to me? Did I do something wrong? Why can't I go home?_

She begins to sob hard, before she starts all out bawling. In that instant, she hears a series of loud moans accompanied by heavy banging coming from the front door.

_No! The bad guys!_ She thinks, instinctively placing her hand over her mouth, hoping they would go away, but the pounding continues.

There is a sound of glass breaking, and the moaning gets clearer.

"NO!" she screams at full volume "You can't come in here! I-I'll call the police!"

She tried to be as threatening as possible, but the sound of her threats only excites them. They begin to hit the door harder and faster at the only thing separating them from an easy meal. As they increase their ferocity with each passing minute, little Marissa grows all the more frightened. Her nerve finally gives way, and she stumbles off the table in order to hide under it. Only about a quarter concealed, she waits either for either Tara...or them.


	4. Chapter 4

Out of Time and Out of Luck

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil...

Chapter 4: Tony and Jason

The gas station just off of what was once Warren street, was surprisingly silent, considering the chaos that left it in the sorry state that it's in, but to Tony and Jason, it comes as no surprise. After all, the whole city is like this, like it had been dragged though the pits of hell by an oily rope.

Upturned cars decorate the streets with their former owners either dead, missing, or wandering around looking for people to eat.

The Warren street Kings, a local street gang, had made their last stand here, building a barricade out of the wrecked and abandoned cars, gathering what weapons they could, slaughtering their already dead assailants mercilessly from behind their barrier, but in the end, the numbers versus the firepower always favors the numbers. The zombies were wiped out, but the victory came at a cost. They had thirteen to their crew just this morning. Now Tony and Jason are all that's left.

To top all that off, the boys they lost got up again about an hour after being eating off of, and tried to eat off of the survivors. Hitting a friend in the head with a shell or a slug is never a delightful experience. These two experienced that multiple times thoughout the day. Now all the bodies, anything that could potentially get back up and bite them have been picked up, tossed over the barricade, and set ablaze. This also helped to quiet and deter any zombies that happened their way.

"Come on, man. We gotta get this thing moving." Jason urges his partner in what used to be crime, Tony.

"Dude, let me do my thing. You do yours, and keep an eye out for more of those sick fucks."

Tony answers.

The muscly black Tony takes a quick break from scavenging the abandoned gas station to wipe his sweat with his red do-rag, revealing his thick cornrows. He looks to his colleague, the scrawny Jason, as he vigilantly glares over the wreckage from the roof of a pickup, his Glock 17 at the ready. Seeing that his homey has the zombies in check, he continues removing a spark plug from a broken down Impala to put it in a parked garbage truck they've been working on since the town went to hell.

"Yo, I see one. Want me to ice him?" Jason asks, taking aim at a lone, wandering corpse.

"Does it know we're here?" Tony returns.

"Don't think so. He's looking pretty damn hard, though."

"Then hold up. Don't shoot until we have to. We wanna keep on the down low, but if he comes this way, or makes too much noise, bust one in him." Tony says finally getting the plug loose. "Hey man, we're green!"

What was supposed to be a declaration of fortunate events catches the former pump attendant's attention. It slowly turns to the sound of Tony's voice, let's a hungry moan, and strides clumsily toward him. However, the corpse doesn't take two steps before catching a 9 millimeter bullet with it's ear. As if on cue, more moaning...a lot more...is heard from all directions, following the sound of the gunshot.

"Aw, fuck." Jason mutters to himself seeing the first of what promises to be a horde of the half-living staggering in they're direction from about half a block away.

"YO! I told you keep your shit down!" Tony yelled, "Fuck it, just keep us from getting eaten, while I get this fucking spark plug in!"

Tony works franticly to place the plug in, while Jason takes aim with his 17. Once the first zombie gets within firing range, Jason busts two shots, hitting it in the chest both times, but it only stopped for a few seconds before advancing closer. More zombies begin to emerge from the ruins of Warren street in search of living flesh, and the gunshots only serve as a dinner bell. Jason franticly fires at the new comers, not realizing that they're still out of range.

After missing them repeatedly, he switches his attention to the first one, hitting it in the left knee, bringing it down to the street, but it begins crawling on it's hands toward the pickup Jason's standing on. He takes a final shot at the downed, rotting corpse, this time releasing it's brain through it's chin.

He is about to spout some shit talk, when he looks over the wreckage of Warren street, to witness a legion of the undead marching to their location. The zombies he was shooting at earlier are much closer now. Jason fires three more shots, hitting one zombie in the gut and ribs, and another in the arm. After that, his gun clicks, meaning it's dry.

"Hey, man! I'm outta caps!" Jason informs Tony.

Tony shakes the keys to the garbage truck, "Doesn't matter. We're bailing."

Jason hops off the pickup, and gets in the passenger side. "This thing smells like shit, man. Couldn't get us a real ride?"

Tony turns the keys, and the truck starts up, "When a horror movie turns real, this ride'll beat the shit out of any caddy."

The truck moves forward, pushing other vehicles out of the way and crushing the more determined zombies attempting to stop it. Jason makes it a point to flip off the remaining zombies, as they pass by in their moving fortress.

"Yo, how 'bout we give 'em a little something to remember us by?" Tony asks, releasing all the trash contained in the back of the truck. Still, the zombies follow them, their frustrated and hungry moans, a promise that they'll follow as long as it takes.

"Damn man. I hate leaving Warren to those dipshits. That shit's our home back there." Jason complains.

"I don't like this shit either, but it beats being munched on by the fucking Cryptkeeper."

"So where we bouncin' to?"

"The cop shop. They should still have some dudes left, and if not, they'll have all the caps we can bust in a week."

"Woah, dawg. You remember we got warrants, right?" Jason asks emphatically.

"There are a bunch of dudes and bitches eating people out here!" Tony pointed out, actually pointing a group of zombies shredding a newly grounded victim. "I don't think the heat's gonna bother with some tagging and pushing."

"Alright man, but if we get locked up, _you're_ bein' _my_ bitch."


	5. Chapter 5

Out of Time and Out of Luck

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil

Chapter 6: Of Angels and Demons

Angel emerges from yet another wall hole, covered in dry wall dust, sweat, and a little blood due to an exposed nail he failed to notice as he was crawling through. Once on the side, he reaches back through the hole to grab his shower rod, now twisted and mangled due to all the beating and prying it's been doing since he came up with this rather ingenious escape plan. It's hard work, but so far it's working, and to Angel that's really all that matters.

He takes a look around room 203, a room he has rented before, and notices how different it looks once it's been ransacked. The bed is a bloody mess. The large, treelike fern has been tipped over, spilling all kinds of soil onto the carpet, and the decorative nick-knacks that were on the dresser have been strewn out all over the place. The only thing that's been untouched is the glowing map of Finland on the wall.

_What's the deal with those things, anyway?_ Angel wonders.

That's none of his concern right now. His focus is the suitcase laying not too far from the drenched bed. He quickly sits it upright, and opens it.

_Maybe...just maybe something in this thing will be useful, food, a bottled water or pop...a gun._

He franticly digs through a pile of women's clothes and finds nothing of interest.

_Figures._

Frustrated, he tosses the suitcase aside, and moves to a purse, sitting on the bed, also caked with the remnants of it's former owner. Inside he finds a billfold with three hundred dollars and some change, which he sticks in his own pocket...just in case he somehow lives through this hell. There's also a candy bar, he wastes no time in scarfing down. Other than a bunch of papers written in a language he doesn't understand, there's nothing else.

_Well, I guess it's back to work._

He picks his rod back up, and plunges it into the next wall. Immediately afterwards, he hears something moving in the open bathroom. Something fell off one of the cabinets or something, which means something had to have disturbed it. A few moments later, a low, soft moan crept across the room, the calling card of the undead.

_Oh dear god, no._ he thinks, _I'm so close. God dammit, I'm so close!_

Angel winds the rod back, as he backs toward the hotel room door. He doesn't like the idea of going back out into the hallway, but he may have no other choice. Besides, the lounge stairs is only a room away. He gently and quietly presses down on the fake-golden, ornate handle, and slides it open only about half an inch when he hears one of them shuffling past the door on the other side.

_Well, that's not good._

Angel waits for it to pass, before returning the door to fully closed position. He quickly turns around to see that a lady in what used to be a blue nightgown now turned a redish purple has made shuffled her way out of the bathroom to the center of the front room. Her almost white eyes staring placidly at him through her long brunette hair. Angel would have given doing her a shot if she wasn't so...dead.

Angel holds the rod in over his head, ready to bring it back down over hers. His hands and the rod shake madly as she, or rather it, takes another slow step in his direction. He notices that there are no wounds on her body, which implies that the blood all over her isn't her own. Unlike the ones outside, this one has killed before...and from the look of things, she likes it.

_Not that that makes the ones outside any safer,_ he thinks _It just means that she got the opportunity before they did._

Another stoic, shuffle causes Angel to shake even harder.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god, here it comes! I'm gonna die here! I don't wanna die here! Not like this!_

"Listen miss...um...I got your wallet. You want it back?" he bargains with no reaction from the corpse "Here, um, take it."

He reaches one hand into his pocket, but holds the hold in place with his other, and tosses the wallet to her, but she makes no attempt to catch it. It just lightly taps her stomach and falls to the floor. She doesn't even notice or care that it's there. She simply stares with those blank, white eyes as she slowly steps again.

"No, come on. Don't do this. I didn't know there was anyone in here."

She opens her mouth slightly. Angel anxiously awaits whatever it is she's about to say, but is met with a long, shallow moan and another shuffling step, pushing the wallet out of the way. She holds her mouth open, as if she could already taste him standing there, quaking like a wet cat.

She steps one more time. Angel closes his eyes, bringing the rod down with every part of his heart and soul behind it, and with a sickening, thunderous crack the rod slams into the top of her head. The blow doesn't drop her completely, but forcefully guides her to her knees. Blood pouring from the top of her skull, running over her face through her hair, she makes an attempt to get back to a vertical base, unphased by the blow that most grown men would lose consciousness or even life from.

Angel is about to swing again, when he realizes that he is only holding half of a shower rod. What he intended to be a kill shot only left him with further disadvantage. His body starts to tremble harder. The salt of his sweat can be both smelled and tasted.

He throws what's left of his weapon, striking her in the face. The zombie's nose doesn't quite come off, but just kind of dangles there, folding outward like a book on her face. She loses her balance just for a second, but a second is all it takes. Angel elects to make a break for the bathroom that his carnivorous assailant had come from.

As he passes on her left side, she dives for him, grabbing his shoulders from behind, and sending them both to the ground. Angel winces at the sting of her nails digging deep into his skin. He savagely struggles to shake her off. She tries equally hard to hold on, at least until she can get that one crucial bite in. Even with Angel screaming, kicking, and clawing, the corpse is able to pull herself up to get nice close look at his neck.

That's all she's able to get, because Angel's head quickly snaps back, hitting her face with a thunderous smack of flesh and sickening crunch of her teeth breaking inside her mouth. The force from the desperate blow caused one of the zombie's hands to slip off his shoulder. He takes advantage by rolling to his side, elbowing the frustrated cadaver, and forcing her off his back.

He wisely doesn't give her the chance to get up to try again. He rises to his feet, jumps directly above the zombie's head, and lands with both feet and 267 pounds on her face. He doesn't step off until she finally stops moving. When he does, he looks at what's left of the zombie's skull, completely caved in from the front, brains and blood leaking slowly onto the green carpet.

_If all these things are as tough as this bitch, I'd better avoid doing that again._ he thinks to himself.

He then goes through his usual routine, scouring the room for potential weapons or tools. Food would be a plus as well. That fight worked up a fierce appetite. He stops to give that bed a brief thought too, but quickly shakes it off.

_When I get out of here, I'm going to spend a week in bed, no, a month. That is, if I can even sleep after that. _

He heads to the bath room to get himself a new rod. Thankfully, most of the rooms at the Apple are exact copies of one another. Even if he can't find a hammer, knife...or God be praised, a gun, he can at least get himself a new rod.

He tugs with all his might to force the rod off the wall, and pulls the curtain off it. He takes one last look at his fallen adversary before going to work on the wall. He doesn't make as quick of a job of it, as he did the last few. His undead dance partner has worn him down to exhaustion.

Ignoring his heavy breathing and aching muscles, he slides through the hole he had made, to find himself on the lounge stairs. He can't resist now. He rolls over on his back, half in half out of the hole and takes a well earned breather.

A clicking sound reminds him of an old saying, "There's no rest for the weary". He slides the rest of the way through and raises himself to his feet slowly, listening intently for the source of that sound.

The click happens again. It's coming from downstairs...the lobby, the most populated area of the hotel. He raises the rod in striking position, backing upward toward the third floor. Wisely, he takes a look over his shoulder, to make sure he's not pincered in by another zombie coming from upstairs. He doesn't see anything, so he slowly creeps upward.

_They're here..._he thinks, trying to calm himself down to no avail.

He makes it few a few steps from the third floor, when one of the steps creak under his foot. The creak is soon followed by a hoarse hissing sound directly above his head. He freezes in his place, and looks up slowly.

There is a red...thing clinging to the ceiling right above him. Sharp, bladelike claws digging into the drywall, allowing it to hang there. It doesn't appear to have any skin, but muscles it has. Angel can see them stretch and contract as it crawls along the ceiling looking for something...namely him. He can't see it's eyes, but it looks as if it's skull is showing.

_Whatever it is, it looks tougher than a zombie, with those claws and razor teeth. _

It's most distinguishing feature, however, is it's tongue. The creature sticks it's tongue out every so often, waving it around along the ceiling, walls, and halfway to the floor. It's as if...

_It's feeling around the area,_ he realizes. _This thing is blind! It heard me when I stepped on that creaky step, but it doesn't know exactly where I am. On that note, I think I'll be leaving now before it finds out._

Angel carefully gets down to a crawling position to avoid the creature's wandering tongue, and starts, back down. He makes sure to slightly test each step, poking it with his foot with a little more pressure each time, before putting his full weight on it. The red creature doesn't seem to move much. It just waits patiently, almost like a spider awaiting the first fly to come too close.

Once he's confident that he's far enough away to walk upright, he does so, but still walks carefully. He doesn't know how well it's hearing is, and still there are the zombies to worry about. He mentally smacks himself on the head.

_I forgot about that noise from downstairs! _ _Oh well, Given the choice between a zombie and that red fuck, I'd take a zombie any day. _

He gets all the way back to the hole he made on the second floor. Raising his rod in striking position, he awaits his new enemy as it ascends the staircase.

_Just please don't break this time,_ he implores his weapon. _As soon as it turns this corner, I'm cracking it's fucking skull._

He catches a glimpse of a figure as it turns the corner, and immediately swings, but just as quickly as it appeared, it backs up with surprising speed. Angel's blow misses, and the momentum of his strike, combined with his fatigue, causes him to tumble forward onto the landing. Angel is completely vulnerable now. He lies in a crumpled pile, head against the wall, facing the floor, and the figure moving in. There's nothing he can do now, except wait for it to maul him like an animal.

A few seconds go by, and nothing happens. Angel turns his head, to see it backing away from him. Relieved and somewhat puzzled by it's behavior, he gets up rod in hand. He can't see it clearly, due to the poor lighting, but it's definitely in retreat mode.

_Is it afraid?_ he wonders.

"I'm not gonna fight you, if I don't have to." he says audible enough for the figure to hear him, but soft enough for the red thing upstairs not to.

The figure stops and gasps.

"Are you...one of them?" It asks.

Angel is shocked and relieved at this turn of events, and doesn't know what to say, except...

"Are you normal? You're not one of them either?"

Angel is so excited at the thought of another survivor, that he forgot to keep his voice down. The sound of claws digging through drywall, is slowly coming down the staircase. Angel raises his finger to his lips, signaling a hush. He then gently sneaks down to the shadowy figure, now revealed to be human and when he gets close enough, notices it's a she.

It's pitch black in some places on the lounge stairs, a perfect hunting ground for a blind predator, and an easy place to get caught off guard by a zombie or twelve. Once the sounds stop, he starts to speak in whispers.

"Where did you come from?" he asks.

"The lo-" she starts in a normal voice, but Angel quickly puts his hand over her mouth.

"Quietly." he commands. "There is a thing up there that doesn't know we're here. Let's not change that for him."

"The lobby" she whispers back. "There's a girl in there that needs some help. She's hurt pretty bad, and if I don't find something to make a decent tourniquet, she's going to die.

"What? How long ago was she bitten? How big is she?"

"She's a little kid. It was about...I don't know...a half hour ago, maybe? She wasn't bitten. She had her entire lower arm ripped off."

_I don't know if that would count or not._ he thinks, wondering if that will make her turn into a zombie.

"Well, unless you want a few things severed too, You don't want to go up that way." he informs her. "That thing I was telling you about, it's very tough looking."

They both hear a hissing, which sends a frigid chill down Angel's spine.

"I think we should leave." he suggests, heading down the stairs.

"Not without that tourniquet." she replies. "That girl's life is at stake."

"Are you kidding me? You can't be looking after other people right now! If you go up that way, you WILL die."

"I'm sorry I can't be a selfish chicken. I'm going, monsters or no." she states rigidly.

"Suit yourself, lady. I'll be sure to read your obituary when I get out of here." he snaps back.

She stops and turns to him.

"You're assuming that there will be a newspaper, or someone to deliver it." she says. "It's not just the Apple. The entire town is like this. I just came here to get off the streets, where armies of those things have been chasing me and that girl ever since Main street. Do you know how I found that girl? I had to pull her out of her own house, because her parents were trying to eat her alive...literally. So yeah, you can tuck tail, but just so you know, there's nowhere to run to."

Angel sits down on a step to let everything she just said soak in.

"Armies?" he asks in disbelief.

"Thousands." she reassured him.

"The whole town?"

"Dead to the last man" she assumes, but does so with confidence. "Present company excluded."

He sits and thinks for a minute, imagining an undead hoard, a whole township strong, waiting for him just outside. Thinking about that, a single red, spiky, tonguey thing doesn't seem so scary anymore.

"Fine, I'll come with you." Angel agrees "You may want to get down. It's blind, so it hunts by sound, and it has really good hearing."

Angel leads the way, crawling slowly and silently, hoping it hasn't moved from the ceiling. If it goes down onto one of the walls...or God forbid, the floor, they're both done for. They go up until the creature is visible, still clinging to the ceiling, anticipating a sudden noise.

The creature's tongue drifts to and fro, almost like a dance around the space directly under it. It's thick saliva drip-dropping down onto the carpet. He sticks his hand in a puddle of it, and manages to fight back the urge to wipe it off. Instead, he elects to continue crawling upward, past their new friend, and hopefully to something, anything, more useful than a shower rod.

The woman is having an easier time of this than he is. Being much lighter, she can move faster without making any sounds at all. They successfully make it past the creature without it noticing them, and make it to the third floor doorway.

Angel raises his hand and points to the door. The woman understands what that means. They're going to have to open the door. Opening a door makes noise...Noise will get that thing's attention. He puts three fingers up, meaning on the count of three, they're going to have to run through that door. He reaches up and grabs the knob.

"Go!" He screams.

The woman practically leaps over him like a dog over a small fence, and rolls through the doorway. The creature screeches loudly, and drops from upside down on the ceiling, to upright on the stairs in one fluid motion. The overweight Angel has a vertical leap of one centimeter, so he has to "run-crawl" through the door.

The creature, which has astounding leaping ability, clears fifteen steps with it's first bound. It comes down with one of it's knifelike claws, catching Angel in the calf, cutting deep. Given the sharpness and overall length of the claw, he's fortunate his leg didn't cleanly sever. The pain is excruciating, but his fear kept him from screaming.

It hunkers to the carpet real low, letting out a loud, hideous hiss. Angel is completely frozen in terror. The red thing steps closer with a slight clicking sound from it's claws going through the carpet and hitting solid wood. It tenses it's muscles for another jump while hissing again, threatening any more of it's ilk and letting them know "This is my kill. Find your own."

_This is it...for real this time,_ Angel tells himself.

Suddenly, the woman reaches through the still open doorway, grabs Angel's rod, and throws it down the stairs. It makes a series of loud pinging sounds as it traverses the lounge stairs. The creature leaps again, but not for Angel. It does a twisting backflip, landing on the second floor landing, then scurrying down into the darkness. Angel uses his hands to slide his way through the door, and the woman closes and locks it.

"I...was scared...shitless...from that." She says, breathing like she had just run a 5K.

"You were scared?" he asks gesturing to the gushing wound on his leg. "You were scared? Look at this!"

"Let's find something to wrap that up with. We can't wait around here forever." she reminds him.

Angel tries to stand, but when he almost rises to a vertical base, his leg spews blood in quick spurts, like a lawn sprinkler. He purposely falls back down, and it slows to it's previous rate.

"I'll find something." she tells him. "Stay still, and if anything happens, just yell. I don't think that thing can hear us from the bottom of the stairwell."

"Just hurry, lady." he urges.

"It's Tara, and I'll be back as soon as I find something...for both of you."

The hallway is really a set of four hallways, forming a hollow square. Directly to her left is a door slightly more narrow than the rest, but still has the same design. The rest of the rooms are arranged just like on the second floor. Most likely, the first floor holds true to the pattern as well. The same dull, green carpeting lines the floor all the way around the square, lit up by wall lights, made to look almost like the tops of street lamps extending from the wall. Ornate windows line the inside walls, allowing passerbys to look all the way down into the lobby on the first floor. She looks down and...

"Marissa!" Tara yells at the empty space below.

"The little girl?" Angel asks.

"I had to leave her in the lobby to look for stuff to treat her arm! She's gone! She was right there on the table, when I left!" She states in a panic.

"Sorry, but we still have one more issue here." Angel reminds her.

"You...you heartless bastard. Can you think of no one but yourself?"

"Well if she's gone, she's gone. There's not much you can do for her now, is there?"

"I...guess you're right." she says sadly. "Still, I should try to find something, in case she's still alive somewhere."

As she scans the lobby one more time, Angel catches a nice look of his companion. He never had a thing for brunettes, but the way that lace, see-through, purple bra is showing everything off, he would jump on that in a heartbeat. The tight, black skirt also leaves little to the imagination.

_I wish I had a twenty dollar bill right now,_ he thinks to himself, assuming she's a stripper or a prostitute.

She finally leaves the window and goes through the narrow door.

Angel plays a scenario in his head, both to pass the time,and to take his mind off the wincing pain in his leg. He imagines Tara relieving herself of what little clothing she has on, leaving it in a trail as she approaches him. First the bra, then the skirt, revealing see through panties of the same design as the bra. Lastly, the long, black boots one at a time, so he can get a good glimpse of her clean, shaven nether region when she raises each leg to take them off. She's dripping wet down there, and it smells like...a very good time.

She smiles at him, as she unbuttons his jeans, pulls them down, and gently guides his shaft through the slit in his red boxers. Then she lightly licks it upward from the base to the tip. When she goes down again, a slippery wet warmth envelopes it. Up and down her head goes. After a long session of this, he let's himself go. He watches lumps form in her throat as she's swallowing bit by bit as it comes out.

She has an even bigger grin now. She knee walks over top of him, raises herself up a bit, and glides his still erect member inside of her. He leans back when she starts straddling, gyrating her hips like a pro belly dancer. Her moans make him mad with lust. He starts pumping upward and she moans louder, they go harder and faster until he shoots off another round.

Back in reality, Tara is searching the linen room, finding clothes for their wounds but no wires or strings or anything that will tie them on. The room itself is no bigger than the laundry room in most private homes, but private homes aren't usually smeared with blood, and the clothes aren't typically strewn about like a bomb went off in it. She even finds an XL Metallica T-shirt and a pair of jeans for herself, which are a pretty good fit, most likely belonging to some guests that will never come to pick them up. They'll definitely be warmer, and not to mention more appropriate, than what she has on now.

She changes as quickly as possible, and grabs an outfit for Marissa too, a little blue dress. As for Angel, he can find his own, for being such a cold-blooded dickface. Then there was the way he was looking at her. She noticed him gawking at her chest while she was looking for Marissa. She tried not to imagine the things that he must have been thinking about out there.

_There is someone's life at stake, and out own!_ she thinks. _How could somebody be thinking about...that? And...with him? Oh, that's too gross._

She decides to stop contemplating at that point and head back to the hallway to find him fast asleep, right where she left him.

_That's good. He may be a scumbag, but he's still a person. I'll do my best to save him too._

She goes through the door right next to the lounge stairs, room 304. This one's a little different from the rooms on the second floor. Firstly, it's even smaller. The bed is on the nearside right corner, and there's not one of those tacky portable closets. Everything else is dead on though.

She frantically rummages through the dresser, the drawer in the nightstand...and there's a gun, a Glock 19. She thinks about it before picking it up. She's always hated guns, but in this case, it's a godsend. The Apple was a relatively cheap inn, therefore a nice place for thugs and pushers to lay low for a while. She's worked here for years, so she's seen her fair share of the dregs of society.

_I don't know who left this, but...oh, who am I kidding? Thank Jesus for lowlife criminals!_ she thinks but wants to shout from the highest points of the earth.

_This will make the zombie problem a little easier, but still I need something to tie with...something...like a T.V. chord perhaps?_

She mentally smacks herself for not thinking about this before. She unplugs the T.V. and yanks it, but it doesn't pull off.

_Cheap, outdated piece of junk! Break dammit! _

She then gets the idea to tie one end to a bed post, drag the bed to the window, and throw it outside. The T.V. goes crashing through smashing itself against the pavement below, while the chord that was attached to it remains tied to the post. She can hear a few curious zombies moaning outside where the T.V. landed, but pays them no heed. She has the way to fix Marissa and Angel's wounds, and a way to defend themselves.

_We might just make it out of here yet._


End file.
